The Romantic Erotic Novel

Chapter 11 – Part 1, The Castration Game

This is chapter 11, part 1 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 11 – Part 1, The Castration Game

[Note: Chapter 10, Zihuatanejo, published as a complete novella, and contains background story for this chapter. If you haven’t read Chapter 10, you can download it free here: Zihuatanejo – The Banned Story]

* * *

Over the next few months, I tried to explain to María how badly I felt about the abortions and her whoring. I talked circles around the issues, and I confused her. She couldn’t understand why I thought it was important.

I finally said straight out I thought she was really asking forgiveness for the abortions, and she was most definitely not a whore.

I was wrong. María hadn’t confused whoring with abortion. She had asked me for forgiveness for a perceived wrong against our conventional marriage. In her mind, abortion was a wrong against god – I couldn’t forgive her. That was a matter between god and her, and only she could work that out.

As far as whoring goes, she had returned to her normal self. She was a free woman again, she wasn’t a whore, and sex is a natural activity. She confessed she already had casual sex partners. I had once again to be careful with ‘whore’ word.

Ok, at last I was ready to explain my own guilt – if I had supported her with the pregnancies, we could have saved the children. She aborted them because she thought I would reject them and her. My guilt was as great as hers, and I went on my knees to ask her forgiveness.

She was thoughtful for a long time, silent. Then she said ‘no’, it wasn’t my fault. An abortion is always the ultimate decision of the woman. I started crying, still on my knees, begging her for forgiveness for that and all my inadequacies as a man. She hastily forgave me, but it didn’t help. Her forgiveness was as empty as mine had been. It was something I’d have to live with.

* * *

A few days later, María wanted to talk. I had finished dressing her to go see her latest lover, but she moped around the house. She was reluctant and ashamed to get started, so I prodded her until she talked. She spoke slowly, picking her words,

“I never really understood you until those two weeks in Zihuatanejo, until the last days with Flacucho. Watching the hurt and pain of the men losing their balls aroused me. I never felt that before. I’ve seen men hurt many times, usually fighting over a woman, but I was never so excited as by their castration. Your hurt especially aroused me. Seeing Flacucho squeeze your balls drove me straight to orgasm – I wanted him to castrate you! I burned when he ass-fucked you, when he forced you to blow him, when you vomited on the floor. Your hurt and humiliation gave me the strongest orgasms of my life. I didn’t want to feel like that, it’s perverted, it’s sadistic. That’s why I was so upset that day, I had become more than a slut. I was a sadistic slut, eager to hurt you and other men. I didn’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be like that, but it made me so excited.”

I said, “It’s only perverted if the man doesn’t want it and you push it on him. If he wants it, its just exotic sex, natural for those couples. You shouldn’t feel bad about that.”

“You’ve told me for years you like to be humiliated. Before we left San Francisco, you told me you wanted to be humiliated and hurt even as far as castration – do you still want that?”

“I was sure Flacucho was going to destroy my testicles that day. I was ready, crazy. I wanted him to destroy me. So yes, I still want the hurt and humiliation. That’s why I let you fuck other men, not just because you want lots of sex, but because I love when you do things with them you never do with me. I love when you fuck other men and reject me. It hurts me deeply, that I’m not good enough for you, but I love the hurt. It twists my body into knots, but gives me the hardest erections, the strongest climax. Yes, I love it, I want it.”

“I still think it’s a perversion, I think it’s a corruption of the beautiful act of sex – maybe you’ve corrupted me. In Guatemala and San Francisco, I did many things to humiliate you because I saw how it excited you. I thought it was strange and perverted, but you liked it. I’m going to see my lover now, but sex with him is missing something, some spark is missing. So … is it going to be humiliation and hurt, physical hurt, sexual hurt, purely for my sexual pleasure? It seems so selfish, …”

“Yes, yes, it’s the Humiliation Game on steroids! Just like we did before our beach trip but intensely now. I want it. I’ll help you – hurt me, humiliate me in every way you can think of. It’ll be so exciting, we’ll be crazy with scorching sex, Let’s do it!”

“Don’t worry, it’s just another game, we’ll call it the Castration Game. It’s the old humiliation game with sexual abuse added-in. Unless the man is the unique and perfect man for you, I’ll keep my testicles. You’ll never find him elsewhere because he’s me, you’ve already got him, so I’m not worried. Don’t worry about the sexual abuse, I love it and I’ll tell you if we go too far. If I say nothing keep going. I don’t want to know what you’re going to do, do it by surprise. It will be be more exciting that way. Don’t do it for me, do it for you. Whatever turns you on the most. Maybe your lovers will have good ideas too. The more you humiliate and hurt me, the more I’ll love you. Let’s do it.”

“What are our rules?”

“I think the same rules we had for the Humiliation Game. You can try out as many men as you want because now it’s not just sex – you’re looking for the man to take you away from me. You can seduce them and entice them and fuck them anyway you want to find this special man. You still have the long-term restriction of one-month. And now, my genitals belong to you and your men for whatever abuse you want, except castration. Only that very special man gets to castrate me, and you’ll never find a man more special than me.”

“This is different, how do we start? This seems so bizarre.”

“You’re all dressed-up to go see your lover. Right now, hit me hard in the testicles, then go see your lover. Tell him you left me in agony on the floor so you could be with him, then fuck his brains out.”

I removed my clothes, turned around, bent over and positioned my testicles between my legs where they couldn’t escape the blow.

“Now, don’t look at my face. Hit me hard, then go fuck him!”

I felt her hands on my hips. Then she said, “Wait a minute, don’t move, I’ll be right back”, and she went into the bedroom. She called from the bedroom, “close your eyes”. I felt her behind me again, she said to look back at her through my legs. She had pulled-off her dress and bra, and wore only four-inch red heels, thigh-high fishnet hosiery, a garter belt, and a tiny red lace panty. I bent over lower to see her breasts – framed through my legs, what an incredibly sexy image, and I became erect, my scrotum pulling my testicles up against the base of my penis. I realized I rarely dressed her up so sexy for us, always for her dates with other men, just special occasions for us, and I resolved to change that. Then she said, “Watch carefully”, she stepped forward, and I watched in slow motion as the fishnet pattern stretched over her kneecap imprinted into my testicles.

When I returned to my senses, María was still there, sitting on the floor next to me. She stared into my face, as I twisted on the floor in agony and ecstasy. She slipped one hand inside her panty and stimulated herself. She pushed against my hands covering my genitals, and I cried and squirmed. She jerked into orgasm. She pulled her dress on over her head, and stood watching me twist for a few more seconds. I said,

“You look like a cheap whore with those fishnets and your nipples sticking out like daggers. A cheap whore about to cheat on her husband.”

She held out her hands to help me up, and I took them, rising to my knees.

She said, “I warned you to never call me a whore. I am a magnificent slut, a sadistic slut, and I’m leaving to fuck my lover while my pathetic husband lays crippled on the floor.” She drove her red heel into my genitals, and I grunted and faded out.

She had hit me harder than I imagined she could, harder than even DeepThroat’s blows when he tried to castrate me. My testicles were swollen, and every movement of my legs spiked pain.

I still lay on the floor when she returned an hour or so later, trying to push myself up with my arms. She came and sat by me, and said, “He was leaving when I arrived. He quickie fucked me in his office, bent over his desk.” She raised her dress and placed my hand on the panty over her vulva. It was wet and sticky. His semen was smeared around her inner thighs and stuck to my hand. I became erect, gasping from pain as my scrotum tightened around my swollen testicles. I started pumping my penis, desperate for an ejaculation.

María leaned over me, deep-kissed me for several seconds, then asked, “Did you taste him? He was there too. I milked out every last drop in my mouth.”

My testicles screamed as an inner pain, the knives cutting through my groin, joined their physical pain. María squirted lubricant into her hand, and took over pumping my penis.

My hand searched the edges of her panty, but she pushed it off. She said, “My pussy is off limits.” That rejection triggered my climax. I jerked back against the floor and ejaculated, more pain than pleasure, spurting semen on my chest. María watched me as I recovered my composure. I asked her to lick away my semen, but she said, “I don’t want your semen anymore.” She wiped the semen from my chest and smeared it on my mouth. She said, “Eat it yourself.” It was like another blow to my testicles, psychological pain added to the physical. I was in ecstasy. She left me on the floor and went to shower. It took me another half-hour to get to my feet.
María came out, drying herself with a towel. She put her knee into my groin again, gently, more a caress than a blow. She said, “That was a reminder, never call me a whore again. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s fun for me – are you sure you can take it?” She walked away without waiting for an answer. I was on the floor again and she didn’t return to help me.

End of book content.

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